I have always been involved with the schools that my daughter has attended. I’ve served on the PTA, been a Room Mother, volunteered for anything and everything that I could, hoping that the staff would remember my efforts when she set fire to the bathroom. Anyway, a year or so ago, we decided to plant a pumpkin patch and let every class participate in the harvest. Every teacher would get a package of seeds to plant in the Spring and then they would be harvested by the following year’s class in the Fall. The good thing is, in the City School System, it is almost guaranteed that some of the students would be able to harvest the exact same seeds they’d planted the prior year so nobody misses out on the fun.
The P.E. Coach, who was one of the only male teachers, volunteered to work the soil and even purchase the materials needed to build individual “patches” for each class. We planned to paint each teacher’s name on her classes “patches” so that there was no confusion as to who was responsible for which pumpkins come harvest time. That’s all we would need is “Little Johnny” knocking the snot out of poor “Little Shaniqua” for trying to pick his pumpkin! So, Coach built the boarders and turned the soil and got the ground ready for Planting Day. Meanwhile, I purchased a package of seeds for each teacher/class that would be participating. Each package was only like $ .10 so it wasn’t a huge financial burden and well worth it for the experience the children would receive.
I carefully printed out instructions with cutesy little pictures of Jack-O-Lanterns on them and took all of my materials to the school for distribution. I placed a package of seeds and instructions in each teacher’s mailbox in the office. Each teacher, that is, except for Ms. Crabapple. Ms. Crabapple was retiring at the end of the year so she would not be there for the harvest. We were planning to paint her predecessor’s name on her “plot” as she had already been named and was already a member of the staff. When I put the seeds in Ms. Notsohelpful’s box (she and Ms. Crabapple are close friends), I wrote her a note and asked her to let Ms. Crabapple know why she didn’t receive seeds and included the entire explanation about retirement, etc. However, if Ms. Crabapple would like seeds, I would be happy to pick up an additional package for her.
The next day, I am informed by one of the office staff that Ms. Crabapple and Ms. Notsohelpful are extremely upset and are going to Ms. Incharge (the Principal) about me. Now think about this, these GROWN women are upset because I didn’t give Ms. Crabapple a $ .10 package of pumpkin seeds. I told the office staff to let them talk to Ms. Incharge, I felt it was stupid and wasn’t going to dignify it with a response. But, the more I thought about it the madder I became. This woman, who never participates in Field Day or Carnival Day or any other Day that requires her to be outside, because she doesn’t want to get hot, is UPSET because I didn’t supply her with seeds to be planted OUTSIDE! Awwww bull crap – I had to do something. So, because I like to write and I am fairly fluent in sarcasm, I decided to write her a letter. I explained to her that I was sorry for her distress over the fact that she didn’t get any seeds, I reiterated that I would be glad to buy her some (if she didn’t have the dime required to make the purchase), I apologized that something intended to be fun and educational for the CHILDREN had cause dissention.
I’ve always heard that people and their dogs tend to look alike. I’ve heard that women who spend a great deal of time together usually “cycle” at the same time. I’d never heard that teachers that reach a certain point in their careers start to act like their students! This heifer was going to tell the Principal on me because I didn’t share my seeds! UGGHHHH! I get mad all over again just thinking about it. Its people like her that make others not even want to try to do good things for our schools. My mother always said that it only takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch – in this case it’s a Crabapple.
Friday, April 22, 2005
5AM, Rain & Proper Noun Usage
At 4:30 this morning I was sleeping soundly following a wonderful Birthday dinner at my Mother’s house. I could hear the rain falling softly outside and snuggled up in my covers. It was so peaceful and I love to sleep when it rains so this was a very welcome sound. At 5:00 a.m. the rain began to beat on the windows waking both myself and my fiancé. I jumped straight up out of the bed, grabbed my robe and the flashlight and headed for the front door. My honey called after me to find out what wrong to which I replied, “My windows are down”.
Now, please remember that I drive a POS Jeep that has tons of stuff wrong with it. No air being the biggest problem so Memphis Summers are just a delight when I have to drive. The good thing is that I don’t live far from work so I don’t have to be in the hot car that long and I can, at least, roll down the windows. The second biggest problem with my POS is that about 3 weeks ago, I managed to, somehow, snap the wires that control my electric windows, in two. So, in order to roll my windows up or down, I have to engage the ignition, open the door half way and use needle-nose pliers to “hotwire” the window switch. Not bad in clear weather but at 5 a.m., half asleep, with a flashlight (that by the way, did not come from a school fundraiser), in the pouring down rain, it isn’t such an easy trick. Nevertheless, I don’t want to drive to work sitting in a puddle and Lord knows I wouldn’t want the empty cigarette packs and old Diet Coke cans that always seem to accumulate in the floorboard to get wet, so out I ran.
So there I was, hunched over in my Jeep, in my robe, with my flashlight and my pliers hotwiring the windows, when out runs my Honey. He flies by me, keys in hand, heading to his truck that is parked on the street. He gets all the way to the sidewalk and yells, “DAMMIT” and hauls tail back in the house. Meanwhile, I’ve managed to get one of the windows up and am now becoming increasingly concerned about the fact that I am holding two electrical wires together while rain pours on them. (Oh well, can’t think about that now, there is a Wendy’s sack in the front seat that is getting ruined!) I finish rolling up my windows and schlep back into the house looking like a drowned rat. There, standing in the kitchen, with water dripping off his bald head, was my Honey, looking a little irritated.
I was a bit confused as it is I that just spent 5 minutes in a monsoon working with live electrical wires while balancing a battery operated light source with my ankles. I asked him what was wrong and he says, “You said my windows were down!” Uhhh, well I guess he was correct, I did say the words “my windows are down”. We are “language people” so he should not have been surprised when I said, “I know. They were”. “No they weren’t”, he replies. “I beg to differ Baby, MY windows were down. Had I thought that YOUR windows were down, I would’ve said ‘Baby, YOUR windows are down’.” God knows I love him and would do anything in the world for him, but jumping out of bed in the middle of the night and run out into the rain to roll up someone else’s windows – yeah, I’m thinking I would’ve pretended I didn’t hear the rain and given him a towel to sit on in the morning.
Obviously, standing in the kitchen, in a puddle, soaking wet at 5:00a.m., isn’t something that puts him in the bests of moods. The response I got to my, what I believed to be witty, explanation was, “How am I supposed to know what you were talking about at 5a.m.” I am learning to choose my battles wisely. My first instinct was to say, “well Baby, by MY, I meant an object that belongs to ME, thus indicating the POS Jeep in the driveway” as I smiled at him sweetly and patted him on the head. But, I am learning and because I love this man, I decided it was better to just let it go so instead I replied, “Well you told me it wasn’t going to rain until Friday!” (That’ll teach him) My Honey isn’t as quick a learner as I because he responded, “technically it IS Friday”. I just gave him my best, “you don’t want to go there smile” as I dried my hair with a paper towel and tried to squeeze the water out of my slippers. At that point he realized that this was probably better a discussion to have during daylight over coffee so he began to prepare the coffee pot for brewing – I went back to bed.
Later that morning as I drove to work, sitting on my towel, I couldn’t help but giggle. My Honey has told me 1000 times that he would follow me to the ends of the Earth. I never would’ve thought that at 5 a.m. on a rainy Friday morning, the end of the Earth would be my own front door J Bless his heart –
Now, please remember that I drive a POS Jeep that has tons of stuff wrong with it. No air being the biggest problem so Memphis Summers are just a delight when I have to drive. The good thing is that I don’t live far from work so I don’t have to be in the hot car that long and I can, at least, roll down the windows. The second biggest problem with my POS is that about 3 weeks ago, I managed to, somehow, snap the wires that control my electric windows, in two. So, in order to roll my windows up or down, I have to engage the ignition, open the door half way and use needle-nose pliers to “hotwire” the window switch. Not bad in clear weather but at 5 a.m., half asleep, with a flashlight (that by the way, did not come from a school fundraiser), in the pouring down rain, it isn’t such an easy trick. Nevertheless, I don’t want to drive to work sitting in a puddle and Lord knows I wouldn’t want the empty cigarette packs and old Diet Coke cans that always seem to accumulate in the floorboard to get wet, so out I ran.
So there I was, hunched over in my Jeep, in my robe, with my flashlight and my pliers hotwiring the windows, when out runs my Honey. He flies by me, keys in hand, heading to his truck that is parked on the street. He gets all the way to the sidewalk and yells, “DAMMIT” and hauls tail back in the house. Meanwhile, I’ve managed to get one of the windows up and am now becoming increasingly concerned about the fact that I am holding two electrical wires together while rain pours on them. (Oh well, can’t think about that now, there is a Wendy’s sack in the front seat that is getting ruined!) I finish rolling up my windows and schlep back into the house looking like a drowned rat. There, standing in the kitchen, with water dripping off his bald head, was my Honey, looking a little irritated.
I was a bit confused as it is I that just spent 5 minutes in a monsoon working with live electrical wires while balancing a battery operated light source with my ankles. I asked him what was wrong and he says, “You said my windows were down!” Uhhh, well I guess he was correct, I did say the words “my windows are down”. We are “language people” so he should not have been surprised when I said, “I know. They were”. “No they weren’t”, he replies. “I beg to differ Baby, MY windows were down. Had I thought that YOUR windows were down, I would’ve said ‘Baby, YOUR windows are down’.” God knows I love him and would do anything in the world for him, but jumping out of bed in the middle of the night and run out into the rain to roll up someone else’s windows – yeah, I’m thinking I would’ve pretended I didn’t hear the rain and given him a towel to sit on in the morning.
Obviously, standing in the kitchen, in a puddle, soaking wet at 5:00a.m., isn’t something that puts him in the bests of moods. The response I got to my, what I believed to be witty, explanation was, “How am I supposed to know what you were talking about at 5a.m.” I am learning to choose my battles wisely. My first instinct was to say, “well Baby, by MY, I meant an object that belongs to ME, thus indicating the POS Jeep in the driveway” as I smiled at him sweetly and patted him on the head. But, I am learning and because I love this man, I decided it was better to just let it go so instead I replied, “Well you told me it wasn’t going to rain until Friday!” (That’ll teach him) My Honey isn’t as quick a learner as I because he responded, “technically it IS Friday”. I just gave him my best, “you don’t want to go there smile” as I dried my hair with a paper towel and tried to squeeze the water out of my slippers. At that point he realized that this was probably better a discussion to have during daylight over coffee so he began to prepare the coffee pot for brewing – I went back to bed.
Later that morning as I drove to work, sitting on my towel, I couldn’t help but giggle. My Honey has told me 1000 times that he would follow me to the ends of the Earth. I never would’ve thought that at 5 a.m. on a rainy Friday morning, the end of the Earth would be my own front door J Bless his heart –
Expanding My Horizons
I’ve had several requests from friends and family to write rants for them. Meaning, gripe about their stuff because they are either too afraid of being busted or they are missing fingers and typing is a chore. Either way, because I am always eager to please, I am conceding to make this blog not only my rants but the rants of anyone who is willing to tell me a story and allow me to steal it. You see, this is MY blog – all stories are from my point of view and although they will all be based on actual events, they may not always be events that happened directly to me.
At first I wasn’t sure that this would be keeping with what I had intended the page to be but after careful consideration I realized that it could only help. I mean, if someone gets mad about a rant because they think it’s about them I can always say, “No, no, no, that was a story I got from my aunt or my co-worker. So you see, now it will really be hard to determine who I’m talking about. However, in all likelihood, if you think it’s you then it probably is. Furthermore, if you are offended by the fact that I would rant about you then you are aware that you act that way and you should just stop it.
At first I wasn’t sure that this would be keeping with what I had intended the page to be but after careful consideration I realized that it could only help. I mean, if someone gets mad about a rant because they think it’s about them I can always say, “No, no, no, that was a story I got from my aunt or my co-worker. So you see, now it will really be hard to determine who I’m talking about. However, in all likelihood, if you think it’s you then it probably is. Furthermore, if you are offended by the fact that I would rant about you then you are aware that you act that way and you should just stop it.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Dirt for Daddy
I have mentioned my daughter before. She is 7 going on 35 and I have become the dumbest person on the planet. I’m confused by this because my mother didn’t become a complete idiot until I was 14 and she somehow managed to snap out of it when I turned 19. I’m sure you would share my concern if your child thought that while she was at school, you just wandered around, naked, drooling and babbling about what time People’s Court came on.
Now, I order for this to make sense, I need to tell you that although I did have a whirlwind romance with her father – everyone (except Juvenile Court) knows he is in OHIO. Thus you could ascertain that we are no longer married. I am engaged to a WONDERFUL man and due to be married in October. She adores him and he has taken on the role of “Daddy” (told you he was wonderful). Anyway, since I have promised not to use real names (to protect the innocent – me) I will refer to him as “Daddy” for the purpose of this forum.
My child has a friend that lives two doors down. They are always together, unless they are in trouble, which is often. They just do stupid stuff all the time like climbing on the roof of the neighbors car and spraying it with Fabreeze because Lord knows you don’t want the roof of your car to smell bad. Anyway, because of this kind of antics, Daddy calls them “Crack Head 1” and “Crack Head 2” or just “The Crack Heads” when they are together. I used to think that this was awful until I began to witness some of their behavior first hand. I’m beginning to believe that massive amounts of drugs are being smuggled in via the school lunches – these kids are nuts!
A few weekends ago, Daddy was going to wash his truck. He has a beautiful, black Ram 1500 that is his pride and joy. The Crack Heads asked if they could help. After the Fabreeze incident, he thought maybe their car washing skills weren’t really up to par and declined their offer. He spent the next two hours, washing, drying, waxing and detailing every inch of his truck. The next morning he goes out to get the paper and low and behold there is dirt SMEARED all over the hood of his truck. Let’s just say that the color of his entire head changed to a beautiful crimson hue. He called Crack Head 1 outside and asked her what was all over his truck. God love her, she stood right there with the most puzzled look on her face and asked, “what on Earth happened?”. I must tell you that Daddy has the patience of Job but this almost sent him over the edge. He said, “You are telling me that you don’t know what that is or how it got on my truck?” to which she replied that Crack Head 2 must have done it. Being that CH 1 is about 6 inches taller than CH 2, it would’ve been impossible for her to reach the hood of a truck I need a step ladder to get in. He pointed out this fact to our beautiful, loving, honest child and again she seemed completely baffled. “Maybe we both did it a little”, she says as she starts looking at the ground and begins studying invisible objects on the driveway.
So, because we believe in fairness and we know these kids very well, we decide to divide and conquer. Daddy heads down to CH 2’s house and I isolate CH 1 in the house. I have no idea what happened at CH 2’s house but when Daddy returned, there was mention of a complete ratting out of CH 1 and lots of tears. Meanwhile, I cornered my daughter and asked her to tell me the truth. I explained that, although I know she thinks I am a drooling fool, I am not at all stupid and I know she’s lying. She recounts the story of asking to help wash the truck the day before and that Daddy had told her “no”. She then started to babble about how they really just wanted to help and be able to play in the water (even though is was only 50 degrees outside that day) and how if he would’ve let her help………and then she just stopped. I said, “so you smeared dirt all over Daddy’s truck because you were mad at him?” – “yes ma’am”. OH MY HEAVANS! I immediately sent her to her room – so that I could laugh. My sweet little baby girl is practicing to be some sort of Mafia Enforcer – “follow my instructions or pay the price”. I was both shocked and proud. I mean, I couldn’t believe that she would do such a thing do her Daddy and I definitely don’t believe that destruction of property is a good thing. However, I was kind of proud that she didn’t pitch her normal, over dramatic, hysterical, the world is against me fit. Instead, she bided her time and got him back where she knew it would hurt the most. She had to put some thought and planning into the execution of this action to avoid getting caught. She had to work hard to look him dead in the eye, look innocent and LIE. She had to be willing to lay the blame on her friend, who turned out to be completely innocent. Holy smokes – my baby is going to be a politician!
Now, please know that we did discipline our child. She was grounded from her bike and TV for a week. And because we believe in teaching our child to right her wrongs, we forced her to get her tail outside and wash the truck. That’s right – her punishment was to do exactly what she wanted to do in the first place. Could someone hand me a napkin and my robe – People’s Court is on in 10 minutes.
Now, I order for this to make sense, I need to tell you that although I did have a whirlwind romance with her father – everyone (except Juvenile Court) knows he is in OHIO. Thus you could ascertain that we are no longer married. I am engaged to a WONDERFUL man and due to be married in October. She adores him and he has taken on the role of “Daddy” (told you he was wonderful). Anyway, since I have promised not to use real names (to protect the innocent – me) I will refer to him as “Daddy” for the purpose of this forum.
My child has a friend that lives two doors down. They are always together, unless they are in trouble, which is often. They just do stupid stuff all the time like climbing on the roof of the neighbors car and spraying it with Fabreeze because Lord knows you don’t want the roof of your car to smell bad. Anyway, because of this kind of antics, Daddy calls them “Crack Head 1” and “Crack Head 2” or just “The Crack Heads” when they are together. I used to think that this was awful until I began to witness some of their behavior first hand. I’m beginning to believe that massive amounts of drugs are being smuggled in via the school lunches – these kids are nuts!
A few weekends ago, Daddy was going to wash his truck. He has a beautiful, black Ram 1500 that is his pride and joy. The Crack Heads asked if they could help. After the Fabreeze incident, he thought maybe their car washing skills weren’t really up to par and declined their offer. He spent the next two hours, washing, drying, waxing and detailing every inch of his truck. The next morning he goes out to get the paper and low and behold there is dirt SMEARED all over the hood of his truck. Let’s just say that the color of his entire head changed to a beautiful crimson hue. He called Crack Head 1 outside and asked her what was all over his truck. God love her, she stood right there with the most puzzled look on her face and asked, “what on Earth happened?”. I must tell you that Daddy has the patience of Job but this almost sent him over the edge. He said, “You are telling me that you don’t know what that is or how it got on my truck?” to which she replied that Crack Head 2 must have done it. Being that CH 1 is about 6 inches taller than CH 2, it would’ve been impossible for her to reach the hood of a truck I need a step ladder to get in. He pointed out this fact to our beautiful, loving, honest child and again she seemed completely baffled. “Maybe we both did it a little”, she says as she starts looking at the ground and begins studying invisible objects on the driveway.
So, because we believe in fairness and we know these kids very well, we decide to divide and conquer. Daddy heads down to CH 2’s house and I isolate CH 1 in the house. I have no idea what happened at CH 2’s house but when Daddy returned, there was mention of a complete ratting out of CH 1 and lots of tears. Meanwhile, I cornered my daughter and asked her to tell me the truth. I explained that, although I know she thinks I am a drooling fool, I am not at all stupid and I know she’s lying. She recounts the story of asking to help wash the truck the day before and that Daddy had told her “no”. She then started to babble about how they really just wanted to help and be able to play in the water (even though is was only 50 degrees outside that day) and how if he would’ve let her help………and then she just stopped. I said, “so you smeared dirt all over Daddy’s truck because you were mad at him?” – “yes ma’am”. OH MY HEAVANS! I immediately sent her to her room – so that I could laugh. My sweet little baby girl is practicing to be some sort of Mafia Enforcer – “follow my instructions or pay the price”. I was both shocked and proud. I mean, I couldn’t believe that she would do such a thing do her Daddy and I definitely don’t believe that destruction of property is a good thing. However, I was kind of proud that she didn’t pitch her normal, over dramatic, hysterical, the world is against me fit. Instead, she bided her time and got him back where she knew it would hurt the most. She had to put some thought and planning into the execution of this action to avoid getting caught. She had to work hard to look him dead in the eye, look innocent and LIE. She had to be willing to lay the blame on her friend, who turned out to be completely innocent. Holy smokes – my baby is going to be a politician!
Now, please know that we did discipline our child. She was grounded from her bike and TV for a week. And because we believe in teaching our child to right her wrongs, we forced her to get her tail outside and wash the truck. That’s right – her punishment was to do exactly what she wanted to do in the first place. Could someone hand me a napkin and my robe – People’s Court is on in 10 minutes.
Not Too Old to Rock
Several years ago, one of my best friends and I were trying to recapture our youth, so we bought tickets to go see Styx at Mud Island. If you live in Memphis you know that playing at Mud Island is about two rungs above playing weddings on the career ladder. So, we get all dolled up in our “we’re not old yet” outfits and off we go on concert night. We sat through the opening act – I have no clue who it was. In my defense, if you are the opening act for a washed up band at Mud Island you should feel honored that I remember that you played at all. Anyway, the forgettable opening act left the stage and that was our cue to take a potty break and visit the nearest beverage stand.
If you have ever been to Mud Island, you know that in order to get to the bathrooms at the amphitheater you have to descend about 40 concrete steps. My friend and I milled in with the rest of the “we’re still young enough to rock” crowd and headed for the stairs. I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you that some of the patrons of this event were slightly inebriated. Just as we are about to begin our decent to the bathrooms, this idiot drunk guy comes barreling through. The next thing the crowd sees is some poor woman flipping head over heals down the steps. My friend jabs me with her elbow to make sure that I have witnessed what was later called “a blur of arms and legs rolling down the steps”. She’s poking the crap out of me saying, “Did you see that idiot!” Imagine her surprise when she turned to me and realized that she was trying to break the ribs of some older, rotund woman.
Meanwhile, at the bottom of the steps, I tried to regain my composure. I landed with my head lying in the men’s bathroom doorway. Lord only knows what the liquid soaking the back of my shirt was – I prefer to believe it was bleach water. I am certain that the liquid soaking into my sock was blood. I had completely ripped open my shin and it was bleeding nicely. Thank God I was lying in bleach water or I might have gotten a nasty infection. The best part is, the moron that knocked me down the stairs in the first place was now position over me, swaying back and forth, offering to help me up. I explained in my best condescending tone that he had already been help enough. Luckily, a security guard had seen the whole thing and came to my rescue.
Cut back to the top of the steps. Once my friend realized that I was not going to die from my injuries, my fall became the funniest thing she had ever seen. I thought she was going to wet her pants while recounting HER version of what had transpired. So, we finally made it to the bathroom, took care of business, cleaned up my wounds, answered stupid questions, “wow, did you fall”, “looks like that hurts”, and my favorite “man, that’s gotta sting”. Nah, I’ve just ripped off 9 layers of flesh from my shin, my bone is exposed and there are little bits of gravel and particles of Lee Press on Nails embedded in my skin…..doesn’t hurt a bit. What is wrong with people??
Anyway, once we got out of the bathroom we made it to the beverage stand where we were served complimentary (code for “please don’t sue”) beverages and escorted to our new seats on the 12th row, center stage. I propped up my leg and commenced to re-hydrating myself as I knew I would need to keep my strength up for the walk back to the car. By the time the concert was over, the miracle of modern brewing had alleviated my pain and I was able to make it to the car with no additional assistance.
My friend and I have attended many concerts together over the years but I have to say that this is one of the most memorable. I look back on it now and I realize what a simpler time it was then. Back then, you could gash your leg open at a concert, in a men’s restroom and never even think of needing to leave and go home, or to the First Aid tent for a band aid or to the hospital for an HIV test. Noooo – back then, you could wallow around on a pee soaked floor with open wounds while your friends hyperventilated from laughter and you consider it a successful night because you managed to get free beer! Man, I wonder if I can get Styx to play my wedding……….?
If you have ever been to Mud Island, you know that in order to get to the bathrooms at the amphitheater you have to descend about 40 concrete steps. My friend and I milled in with the rest of the “we’re still young enough to rock” crowd and headed for the stairs. I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you that some of the patrons of this event were slightly inebriated. Just as we are about to begin our decent to the bathrooms, this idiot drunk guy comes barreling through. The next thing the crowd sees is some poor woman flipping head over heals down the steps. My friend jabs me with her elbow to make sure that I have witnessed what was later called “a blur of arms and legs rolling down the steps”. She’s poking the crap out of me saying, “Did you see that idiot!” Imagine her surprise when she turned to me and realized that she was trying to break the ribs of some older, rotund woman.
Meanwhile, at the bottom of the steps, I tried to regain my composure. I landed with my head lying in the men’s bathroom doorway. Lord only knows what the liquid soaking the back of my shirt was – I prefer to believe it was bleach water. I am certain that the liquid soaking into my sock was blood. I had completely ripped open my shin and it was bleeding nicely. Thank God I was lying in bleach water or I might have gotten a nasty infection. The best part is, the moron that knocked me down the stairs in the first place was now position over me, swaying back and forth, offering to help me up. I explained in my best condescending tone that he had already been help enough. Luckily, a security guard had seen the whole thing and came to my rescue.
Cut back to the top of the steps. Once my friend realized that I was not going to die from my injuries, my fall became the funniest thing she had ever seen. I thought she was going to wet her pants while recounting HER version of what had transpired. So, we finally made it to the bathroom, took care of business, cleaned up my wounds, answered stupid questions, “wow, did you fall”, “looks like that hurts”, and my favorite “man, that’s gotta sting”. Nah, I’ve just ripped off 9 layers of flesh from my shin, my bone is exposed and there are little bits of gravel and particles of Lee Press on Nails embedded in my skin…..doesn’t hurt a bit. What is wrong with people??
Anyway, once we got out of the bathroom we made it to the beverage stand where we were served complimentary (code for “please don’t sue”) beverages and escorted to our new seats on the 12th row, center stage. I propped up my leg and commenced to re-hydrating myself as I knew I would need to keep my strength up for the walk back to the car. By the time the concert was over, the miracle of modern brewing had alleviated my pain and I was able to make it to the car with no additional assistance.
My friend and I have attended many concerts together over the years but I have to say that this is one of the most memorable. I look back on it now and I realize what a simpler time it was then. Back then, you could gash your leg open at a concert, in a men’s restroom and never even think of needing to leave and go home, or to the First Aid tent for a band aid or to the hospital for an HIV test. Noooo – back then, you could wallow around on a pee soaked floor with open wounds while your friends hyperventilated from laughter and you consider it a successful night because you managed to get free beer! Man, I wonder if I can get Styx to play my wedding……….?
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Double The Fun
Ok - I know that this is supposed to be a daily tirade which would make you think one post a day. I mean, what kind of twisted human would have more than one rant a day? Allow me to introduce myself...........
Today I've posted two different rants just because my mother can't wait to read them. So, for her, I've broken protocal and thrown all of my morals out the window (like that's somethig new). Anyway, here they are. Enjoy!
Today I've posted two different rants just because my mother can't wait to read them. So, for her, I've broken protocal and thrown all of my morals out the window (like that's somethig new). Anyway, here they are. Enjoy!
Handy Man
Those of you who know me, are aware that I have a younger brother. He and I are very close and share the same twisted sense of humor. We both find things like talking to schizophrenics and watching old people fight to be quite entertaining. He and I are four years apart and he is the “golden child”. He has been making me laugh since he could talk and one of the things that he excels at is “voices”. He went through a period when Damon Wayons was his favorite comedian. He mimicked every character that man did and the one that could always bring me to my knees was “Handy Man”. If you don’t remember, Handy Man was a mentally challenged super hero – that’s as politically correct as I can get.
It never failed, every time my brother would get in trouble he would go “into Handy Man” and that was it. My mother would be laughing so hard she couldn’t even remember what she was mad about. He used to make crank calls to members of our family in various different “voices” with complete characters built around them. He would call my mother at work and mess with her for 10 minutes and hang up. She would come home at night telling us about strange phone calls she’d received and we would roll because she had no clue. He could ALWAYS get her.
I, on the other hand, knew him too well. I always knew when it was him and he could never get over on me. I took pride in the fact that I was, somehow, better than my mother because I could always detect his antics before I got sucked in. We used to make fun of how gullible she was, thank God we were there to jade her and turn her into a distrusting, paranoid, functioning member of society!
One evening I was at home with my daughter, two dogs, their two puppies and my cat (because I aspire to be a zoo keeper) when the phone rang. It was Handy Man. I was trying to do laundry, prepare dinner, keeping the dogs from killing the cat and the cat from killing the kid. I had not had a good day at work and I really wasn’t in the mood. But, because it’s my brother, I have to let him at least THINK he’s got me going before I burst his bubble. This time it was elaborate – Handy Man was working for the Fire Department selling tickets to the annual Fireman’s Ball that benefits burn victims. Now, for those who don’t know, my father is a fireman, so this was a perfect “character” for my brother to play. I listened to his spill about how my donation would assist in the treatment of burn victims, he appreciates me speaking to him, he’ll speak slowly so I can understand him better, blah, blah, blah. I’d finally let him go on for about two minutes, giggling and just waiting for my opportunity to pull the plug. I finally said, “Would you quit acting like a retard”. Silence………then, “I’m sorry ma’am?” I said, “I know it’s you and I really don’t have time for the retard routine today”. By this time I had walked into the kitchen where the caller ID box was. Imagine my panic when I saw the number and description “Firefighters Assoc” flash across that little LCD screen. Again I heard, “I’m sorry ma’am.” I immediately tried to recover and said, “oh no, I’m sorry. I thought you were my brother.” He responded, “You have a brother that is mentally handicapped?” and I said, “I sure do. How much are those tickets?” Needless to say, I bought 2 and donated them to the burn victims.
To this day, I never answer the phone without checking caller ID. So, if your number is blocked, unknown, from some area code I’ve never heard of, or in any way associated with the Firefighters Assoc., don’t expect me to pick it up. I never know how my brother will strike again and I’m not nearly as confident in my ability to detect his BS anymore. I guess we do turn into our mothers at some point after all.
It never failed, every time my brother would get in trouble he would go “into Handy Man” and that was it. My mother would be laughing so hard she couldn’t even remember what she was mad about. He used to make crank calls to members of our family in various different “voices” with complete characters built around them. He would call my mother at work and mess with her for 10 minutes and hang up. She would come home at night telling us about strange phone calls she’d received and we would roll because she had no clue. He could ALWAYS get her.
I, on the other hand, knew him too well. I always knew when it was him and he could never get over on me. I took pride in the fact that I was, somehow, better than my mother because I could always detect his antics before I got sucked in. We used to make fun of how gullible she was, thank God we were there to jade her and turn her into a distrusting, paranoid, functioning member of society!
One evening I was at home with my daughter, two dogs, their two puppies and my cat (because I aspire to be a zoo keeper) when the phone rang. It was Handy Man. I was trying to do laundry, prepare dinner, keeping the dogs from killing the cat and the cat from killing the kid. I had not had a good day at work and I really wasn’t in the mood. But, because it’s my brother, I have to let him at least THINK he’s got me going before I burst his bubble. This time it was elaborate – Handy Man was working for the Fire Department selling tickets to the annual Fireman’s Ball that benefits burn victims. Now, for those who don’t know, my father is a fireman, so this was a perfect “character” for my brother to play. I listened to his spill about how my donation would assist in the treatment of burn victims, he appreciates me speaking to him, he’ll speak slowly so I can understand him better, blah, blah, blah. I’d finally let him go on for about two minutes, giggling and just waiting for my opportunity to pull the plug. I finally said, “Would you quit acting like a retard”. Silence………then, “I’m sorry ma’am?” I said, “I know it’s you and I really don’t have time for the retard routine today”. By this time I had walked into the kitchen where the caller ID box was. Imagine my panic when I saw the number and description “Firefighters Assoc” flash across that little LCD screen. Again I heard, “I’m sorry ma’am.” I immediately tried to recover and said, “oh no, I’m sorry. I thought you were my brother.” He responded, “You have a brother that is mentally handicapped?” and I said, “I sure do. How much are those tickets?” Needless to say, I bought 2 and donated them to the burn victims.
To this day, I never answer the phone without checking caller ID. So, if your number is blocked, unknown, from some area code I’ve never heard of, or in any way associated with the Firefighters Assoc., don’t expect me to pick it up. I never know how my brother will strike again and I’m not nearly as confident in my ability to detect his BS anymore. I guess we do turn into our mothers at some point after all.
That One Friend
Once in a while you form a friendship with someone that lasts your whole life through. They are the ones you turn to in your hour of need, they are always there to hold your hand, make you laugh and sometimes, just listen. Other times, they are more like the boils on the butt of humanity and you cringe every time their number shows up on caller ID. We all have one and they are usually the ones we spend the most time with because it’s just easier than trying to avoid them.
In my life, I’ve had several. Thank God for the witness protection program or I would’ve never gotten away from that one girl. She was the type that ALWAYS had some kind of problem. She was always angry about one thing or another or one person or another. The whole friggin world was against her or just out to tick her off and she could never understand why. HMMMM………maybe because you are always so dang negative about everything, rude and hateful to everyone you encounter and have absolutely no patience for anyone other than yourself? Nah, it’s probably a Government conspiracy of some kind – that’s the only explanation!
I mean, this chick would call and the first thing out of her mouth was always, “you are never going to believe what happened to me” in that tone that conveyed how completely fed up she was with the world and all of the idiots that surround her on a daily basis. Then I would get 15 minutes of how the waitress at Denny’s spilt coke on the table next to her and it splashed on the floor! Two whole drops of liquid landed 6 inches from her foot and the waitress didn’t EVEN apologize! Once she had established the absolute horror of the event for me, she would then give me another 20 minutes of how stupid people should not be allowed to work around the public and she is going to sue Denny’s for emotional distress for her nearly fatal possible shoe dampening.
The whole time I’m listening in disbelief because I can’t fathom being this petty about anything. I went over and over in my head about how I’d seen her do things 1000 times worse and never dreamed of apologizing to anyone. I was thinking of all of the comments I could make that might bring her back to the same reality as the rest of the planet. I thought of all of the ugly things I could say to make her realize that all though she is far superior to 87% of the population, some people do make mistakes and we just have to say, “Bless his heart” and allow them to breath the same air as us. When my turn came, I was ready. I was finally going to say exactly what I thought. I was going to tell her that she is petty and hateful and that the world doesn’t’ revolve around her. She said, “Can you BELIEVE the nerve of that girl!”. I stuck to my guns and responded, “That Bitch!”. It was just easier to agree than to spend the next hour of my life being told how wrong I am.
I haven’t seen her in lot of years. I used to fantasize that she was either bludgeoned to death by a cashier at Wal-Mart or run over by some “stupid person” she encountered along the way . However, I know in my heart that she was probably a key witness in some serial killer case and now resides in Iowa under the assumed name Beula Ballbricker. And because I believe in karma, I’m sure she’s a waitress at Denny’s and she’s wearing wet shoes.
In my life, I’ve had several. Thank God for the witness protection program or I would’ve never gotten away from that one girl. She was the type that ALWAYS had some kind of problem. She was always angry about one thing or another or one person or another. The whole friggin world was against her or just out to tick her off and she could never understand why. HMMMM………maybe because you are always so dang negative about everything, rude and hateful to everyone you encounter and have absolutely no patience for anyone other than yourself? Nah, it’s probably a Government conspiracy of some kind – that’s the only explanation!
I mean, this chick would call and the first thing out of her mouth was always, “you are never going to believe what happened to me” in that tone that conveyed how completely fed up she was with the world and all of the idiots that surround her on a daily basis. Then I would get 15 minutes of how the waitress at Denny’s spilt coke on the table next to her and it splashed on the floor! Two whole drops of liquid landed 6 inches from her foot and the waitress didn’t EVEN apologize! Once she had established the absolute horror of the event for me, she would then give me another 20 minutes of how stupid people should not be allowed to work around the public and she is going to sue Denny’s for emotional distress for her nearly fatal possible shoe dampening.
The whole time I’m listening in disbelief because I can’t fathom being this petty about anything. I went over and over in my head about how I’d seen her do things 1000 times worse and never dreamed of apologizing to anyone. I was thinking of all of the comments I could make that might bring her back to the same reality as the rest of the planet. I thought of all of the ugly things I could say to make her realize that all though she is far superior to 87% of the population, some people do make mistakes and we just have to say, “Bless his heart” and allow them to breath the same air as us. When my turn came, I was ready. I was finally going to say exactly what I thought. I was going to tell her that she is petty and hateful and that the world doesn’t’ revolve around her. She said, “Can you BELIEVE the nerve of that girl!”. I stuck to my guns and responded, “That Bitch!”. It was just easier to agree than to spend the next hour of my life being told how wrong I am.
I haven’t seen her in lot of years. I used to fantasize that she was either bludgeoned to death by a cashier at Wal-Mart or run over by some “stupid person” she encountered along the way . However, I know in my heart that she was probably a key witness in some serial killer case and now resides in Iowa under the assumed name Beula Ballbricker. And because I believe in karma, I’m sure she’s a waitress at Denny’s and she’s wearing wet shoes.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
End Users
Ok – because I do desktop support for a living, it’s only fitting that one of my first rants be about the wonderful people that I support. For my purposes, these people, who for the most part are wonderful humans with very little technical knowledge, will be known as End Users (code for idiot).
Now, not all of the people I support work for my company. Some of them are family and friends (or maybe not after this post). It is amazing to me that the people who listen to me gripe about some of the stupid questions I have to answer on a daily basis, the mind numbing problems I deal with and the fact that I wish a bus would just hit me in the parking lot, are the very people that call me at home to ask me ……….. COMPUTER QUESTIONS! It always starts with, “hey, let me ask you this” or “my computer is doing this weird thing”. This is usually their round-a-bout way of saying, “could you spend the only free time you have working on my computer”. God love ‘em. So, because I am either incapable of saying no or I am just the most wonderful person on Earth, I always say, “sure, I can look at it for you”. I then spend hours doing something I like almost as much as having a baboon do my bikini wax.
What makes this even better is the fact that all End Users think they know what the problem is. I’ve had, “Well, I was cleaning up my files the other day and there was a folder called System32. I didn’t know what it was so I deleted it. Now my computer won’t come on at all. I bet I have a virus”. Yeah, the virus is called Syphilis and it is eating away at your brain! I’ve had, “I got this pop-up that asked me if I wanted to download a program called ‘trash your data’. Sounded like a cool program and it was free so I did. Now I can’t find any of my stuff. If you’ve got a minute could you find ALL of my data for the past 5 years?” Yeah, I’ve got a minute but that isn’t going to help you.
The good thing about my job is that it allows me to feel superior in a world where I really don’t amount to much. I live in a modest house, drive an old POS car, I’m not famous or even very popular but in PCville, I am like the great and powerful wizard from that movie with the flying monkeys, midgets and some lost girl trying to get home. If she hadn’t been such an End User, Dorothy could’ve looked up Kansas on Map Quest and not had to deal with that cranky heifer with the crystal ball.
Now, not all of the people I support work for my company. Some of them are family and friends (or maybe not after this post). It is amazing to me that the people who listen to me gripe about some of the stupid questions I have to answer on a daily basis, the mind numbing problems I deal with and the fact that I wish a bus would just hit me in the parking lot, are the very people that call me at home to ask me ……….. COMPUTER QUESTIONS! It always starts with, “hey, let me ask you this” or “my computer is doing this weird thing”. This is usually their round-a-bout way of saying, “could you spend the only free time you have working on my computer”. God love ‘em. So, because I am either incapable of saying no or I am just the most wonderful person on Earth, I always say, “sure, I can look at it for you”. I then spend hours doing something I like almost as much as having a baboon do my bikini wax.
What makes this even better is the fact that all End Users think they know what the problem is. I’ve had, “Well, I was cleaning up my files the other day and there was a folder called System32. I didn’t know what it was so I deleted it. Now my computer won’t come on at all. I bet I have a virus”. Yeah, the virus is called Syphilis and it is eating away at your brain! I’ve had, “I got this pop-up that asked me if I wanted to download a program called ‘trash your data’. Sounded like a cool program and it was free so I did. Now I can’t find any of my stuff. If you’ve got a minute could you find ALL of my data for the past 5 years?” Yeah, I’ve got a minute but that isn’t going to help you.
The good thing about my job is that it allows me to feel superior in a world where I really don’t amount to much. I live in a modest house, drive an old POS car, I’m not famous or even very popular but in PCville, I am like the great and powerful wizard from that movie with the flying monkeys, midgets and some lost girl trying to get home. If she hadn’t been such an End User, Dorothy could’ve looked up Kansas on Map Quest and not had to deal with that cranky heifer with the crystal ball.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Child Support
I mentioned before that I am a single mom. I was married to the most wonderful drug addict my money could buy. After 8 years of him cheating, lying, stealing, wrecking cars and disappearing for days on end, I decided that he was the man I wanted to marry. See now why I thought I was mildly stupid. We were wed and immediately started to work on our family. Everything was wonderful and our glorious union lasted for 3 whole months. He moved to Ohio to be near his family and I stayed here to raise mine. I filed for Child Support when my daughter was 2 years old through Juvenile Court. Now, if you have ever had the pleasure of doing business with Juvenile Court you will know that what I am about to tell you is not at all exaggerated but a testament to our justice system.
Now, I married my ex in 1997 in Memphis, my daughter was born in 1997 in Memphis, my ex moved to Ohio in 1997 and I filed for child support in 1999 in Memphis. All communications with my ex from JC were sent to his address in OHIO. When he came here for court in 1999 he told the judge that he lived in OHIO. The support order was set and they even sent him a follow up letter in OHIO. Two years go by and I haven’t received even one partial payment. During those two years, I followed up with JC on a bi-monthly basis to find out why I wasn’t receiving payments and was told that my case worker would follow up on it. I finally spoke to (well, yelled at) the right person on the phone one day and was told that the reason nothing can be done is because he lives in Ohio and that I have to go back to court to file for an Interstate Enforcement. It was as if they didn’t realize that Ohio was another state when this all began and it never dawned on any of them to friggin tell me I had to request it be enforced in Ohio. I realize how stupid it was of me to assume that if the plaintiff resided in ANOTHER STATE, the court would automatically try to enforce the order in that state. Noooooo, first I have to prove that Ohio exists on a map, then, I have to track down his last 50 addresses and phone numbers so they can locate him in a state that may or may not exist. I have to continually update my file with current information so that they know where to send the checks that I am not going to receive because he isn’t going to pay because they won’t enforce the order. Only my case worker can provide me with any information from the Ohio court but she isn’t reachable by phone, I can fax her. I am fairly certain that my case worker is either illiterate or blind because she never responded to the 30 faxes I’ve sent over the years. I can take off work and go down to the court house, sit in the waiting room for 3 hours to see her so that she can tell me she will “follow up on it”.
It is now 2005 and in February, my ex finally went to court in Ohio. He explained to the judge that the reason he hadn’t paid a dime in 5 years was because he really felt that the $323 a month he’d been ordered to pay (and agreed to in court) was just too much for one child. What???? Too much for one child – it’s obvious that he doesn’t have a clue what it costs to raise a child these days. Clothes, food, daycare, glasses, shoes, school fees, insurance, medicine, field trips, 400 school fundraisers a year of which I have to buy a bunch of crap I don’t need so that my child can get a $ .49 flashlight and not have to go to therapy. Not to mention small things like a roof, lights, heat and water. I can see where he would think that $3876 a year is a little steep……..I guess the two children he has in Ohio are home schooled and malnourished and don’t have flashlights.
Meanwhile, in order for them to enforce payment in Ohio, they have to first, monitor payments – easy enough, he doesn’t pay. Second, they will garnish his wages – he gets paid in cash so garnishment can’t be enforced. We tried that from Memphis 3 years ago, guess someone up North should’ve read the file. 3rd, they will suspend his driver’s license – the one that was suspended years ago for a “traffic violation” that was never paid for either. And finally, they will put him in jail until the debt is paid. Let’s see, $323 X 64 months = $20,672 and in jail they make like $5 a day. So, he should only have to serve around 11 years in order to pay off the debt to this point not including future payments that won’t be made while he’s in jail and not working. So, if my calculations are correct, while he is in jail paying off the last five years, he will accrue an additional $42,636 in monthly payments. After his 11 years, my daughter will be 18 so he will no longer be liable for payments but he will still have to serve 23 years to pay off the accrued debt. You know, I guess when it’s all said and done, our Justice system does work. I get to spend 18 years raising her, loving her and supporting her and he gets to spend 34 years in prison to pay for 8% of it. Seems fair……..I’m going to fax my findings to my case worker to see if she can follow up.
Now, I married my ex in 1997 in Memphis, my daughter was born in 1997 in Memphis, my ex moved to Ohio in 1997 and I filed for child support in 1999 in Memphis. All communications with my ex from JC were sent to his address in OHIO. When he came here for court in 1999 he told the judge that he lived in OHIO. The support order was set and they even sent him a follow up letter in OHIO. Two years go by and I haven’t received even one partial payment. During those two years, I followed up with JC on a bi-monthly basis to find out why I wasn’t receiving payments and was told that my case worker would follow up on it. I finally spoke to (well, yelled at) the right person on the phone one day and was told that the reason nothing can be done is because he lives in Ohio and that I have to go back to court to file for an Interstate Enforcement. It was as if they didn’t realize that Ohio was another state when this all began and it never dawned on any of them to friggin tell me I had to request it be enforced in Ohio. I realize how stupid it was of me to assume that if the plaintiff resided in ANOTHER STATE, the court would automatically try to enforce the order in that state. Noooooo, first I have to prove that Ohio exists on a map, then, I have to track down his last 50 addresses and phone numbers so they can locate him in a state that may or may not exist. I have to continually update my file with current information so that they know where to send the checks that I am not going to receive because he isn’t going to pay because they won’t enforce the order. Only my case worker can provide me with any information from the Ohio court but she isn’t reachable by phone, I can fax her. I am fairly certain that my case worker is either illiterate or blind because she never responded to the 30 faxes I’ve sent over the years. I can take off work and go down to the court house, sit in the waiting room for 3 hours to see her so that she can tell me she will “follow up on it”.
It is now 2005 and in February, my ex finally went to court in Ohio. He explained to the judge that the reason he hadn’t paid a dime in 5 years was because he really felt that the $323 a month he’d been ordered to pay (and agreed to in court) was just too much for one child. What???? Too much for one child – it’s obvious that he doesn’t have a clue what it costs to raise a child these days. Clothes, food, daycare, glasses, shoes, school fees, insurance, medicine, field trips, 400 school fundraisers a year of which I have to buy a bunch of crap I don’t need so that my child can get a $ .49 flashlight and not have to go to therapy. Not to mention small things like a roof, lights, heat and water. I can see where he would think that $3876 a year is a little steep……..I guess the two children he has in Ohio are home schooled and malnourished and don’t have flashlights.
Meanwhile, in order for them to enforce payment in Ohio, they have to first, monitor payments – easy enough, he doesn’t pay. Second, they will garnish his wages – he gets paid in cash so garnishment can’t be enforced. We tried that from Memphis 3 years ago, guess someone up North should’ve read the file. 3rd, they will suspend his driver’s license – the one that was suspended years ago for a “traffic violation” that was never paid for either. And finally, they will put him in jail until the debt is paid. Let’s see, $323 X 64 months = $20,672 and in jail they make like $5 a day. So, he should only have to serve around 11 years in order to pay off the debt to this point not including future payments that won’t be made while he’s in jail and not working. So, if my calculations are correct, while he is in jail paying off the last five years, he will accrue an additional $42,636 in monthly payments. After his 11 years, my daughter will be 18 so he will no longer be liable for payments but he will still have to serve 23 years to pay off the accrued debt. You know, I guess when it’s all said and done, our Justice system does work. I get to spend 18 years raising her, loving her and supporting her and he gets to spend 34 years in prison to pay for 8% of it. Seems fair……..I’m going to fax my findings to my case worker to see if she can follow up.
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